


Jumeaux

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Humor, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco and Blaise own and operate a luxury spa resort together, and the Ministry's Auror department has scheduled a full service three-day retreat.  Guess who's on the guest list?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.
> 
> I've been sitting on this one for about eight months, and finally decided it was time to dust it off, fix my typos, and publish it. I love a good Draco POV story, especially when he's arrogant, funny, and totally comfortable with his own foibles.

"You're blocking my sun."

Draco Malfoy cracked an eyelid and glared up at the angry face of Blaise Zabini. Behind Blaise the morning sun poured precious warm radiance across the blue and white tiled deck and set sparkles alight in the ripples of the pool.

"That foot tapping isn't helping matters," he added as he dropped his sunglasses over his eyes and settled back into the chaise lounge.

"Stop being a lazy sod and help me," Blaise snapped.

"I'm only halfway through my morning coffee and the sun is at the perfect angle," Draco waved a negligent hand at the impossibly blue sky.

"You can't possibly need to lie out this much. You don't tan, you albino bastard."

"I need the warmth. Dragons are cold blooded."

"Get up now," Blaise snatched Draco by his elbow and hauled him to his feet. Without another word he marched his friend to the glass panel doors, through the softly skylit atrium, and into the back office.

Draco shook himself free and sank into a leather club chair, suppressing a flinch as the cold, waxed finish touched his sun-warmed skin. He adjusted his swim shorts and crossed his bare feet at an angle while Blaise settled into the executive chair on the other side of the desk.

"Melody and Harmony called in sick," Blaise began in a grave tone.

"So call in Kimber and Amber," Draco pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head.

"They have full-time jobs, they're not available."

"So call in Padma and Parvati."

"They hate you."

"It's been five years since graduation."

"I guarantee they still hate you."

"So call in Daphne and Astoria. They like me."

"They're not twins, Draco," Blaise sat back in his chair and sighed in annoyance.

"Why are you so tense about it? It's one day. We'll tell the guests the spa is closed for cleansing rituals and when the girls are well tomorrow we'll open as usual." Draco was pretty pleased with himself for coming up with such a savvy solution before noon.

"Two problems with that," Blaise ticked off on his fingers. "One, we have that Ministry group coming in today for their three-day retreat package. All inclusive. That means spa. And two," he winced before continuing, "they might not be coming back."

Draco stared at him for a moment. His business partner's face told him everything. "Which one?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Blaise winced again.

"Melody has the beauty mark," Draco pointed to his cheek.

Blaise winced a third time, "I wasn't facing her."

"Brilliant."

"And I think she feels awkward now," Blaise added. "I think they're going to quit."

"You simply must stop shagging the help," Draco said lightly. "I insist."

"What are we going to do?" Blaise ignored him. "Jumeaux Spa isn't Jumeaux Spa without a set of twins."

"I told you the premise was stupid."

"It's not stupid, it's unique."

"Won't our guests appreciate that? 'Sorry, gentlemen, the spa is closed. But wasn't our idea unique?'" Draco sneered.

"So help me fix it," Blaise tossed a crumpled up receipt at him. "Act like a business owner for once."

Draco sighed and gazed past Blaise's head to the window behind him, where the sun streamed in colorful rays through the abstract mosaic glass.  "My dear friend," he said. "At last count I have over seventy-three million Galleons in Gringotts alone. As long as you don't run this place into the ground I really don't have much opinion about how you choose to fix this."

"That wasn't the deal and you know it," Blaise tossed another receipt at him.  "Think, man."

"Polyjuice?"

"No," Blaise glared at him.  "You don't think people suspect trickery already?  Our reputation only draws customers if our Jumeaux promise is based in reality.  One little slip with Polyjuice or any doubling charm and we'd be ruined."

"Well I don't see a solution," Draco said.  "We're just going to have to say we're between twins right now until we can hire a new pair."

"So who's running the spa today?"

"Call Pansy."

"She'd never go for that," Blaise rolled his eyes.  "Besides, she's more cross with you than Harmony is with me."

"Or Melody."

"Right."

"It wasn't my fault," Draco said.  "It was a very confusing time in my life."

"Well your confusion has cost us another potential solution to this problem."  Blaise sighed and shook his head in resignation.  "It's going to have to be us."

"Salazar, Blaise, You mean it's going to have to be me," Draco dropped his head back with a groan.  "You don't know your way around a spa."

"It's our only option—"

"How many of these Ministry blokes are going to want a full body massage from another bloke?" Draco snapped.

"I'll start making phone calls and try to find a girl who wants to make some extra money," Blaise said.  "But I can't guarantee to have someone today.  You'll have to fill in."

"This is rubbish and you know it."

"If you don't want to make this resort prosper I'll buy your half out now," Blaise snapped.

"Half?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean," Blaise said.  "You may have fronted most of the money but I do most of the work.  If you don't want to be a partner in this, I have the funds to buy you out."

"You're not buying me out," Draco dropped his eyebrow and leveled an even gaze at his friend. "I made a commitment to make an honest businessman out of myself and rebuild the Malfoy name, and I'm sticking to it."

"Then start by running your business," Blaise stood.  "I'm going to finish checking the rooms.  You check the kitchen and the spa. They arrive at eleven, lunch is at noon."

"How many of them are coming?" Draco stood, too, and finally accepted that he would have to change into regular clothes.

"The whole Auror department, I think," Blaise checked his wand and strode out into the hallway. "Eight guests total."

"All blokes?" Draco followed him out to the atrium.  Lofted ceilings arched up to support a glassed dome, while silk upholstered couches created conversational clusters around the open space.

"I believe so."

"I'll firecall a few escort services," Draco straightened his shoulders and faced his friend. "Don't worry, Blaise, I'm on it."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco Disapparated for his room in the penthouse suite that overlooked the northern garden on one side and the pool on the other.  Blaise had been hounding him to give up his room so it could be leased to paying customers, but Draco refused to give up the space he'd come to think of as home.  He certainly didn't consider that mausoleum of a mansion out in Wiltshire home anymore.  And a flat in an ordinary building didn't sound like an idea he wanted to explore.  Here in the Jumeaux Resort he could enter through the enchanted front doors and leave the noisy hustle and bustle of central London behind.  He had access to an excellent dining room, poolside sunshine, and a luxurious spa whenever he wanted it.  He had no intention of ever leaving.

In his wardrobe he found a freshly pressed suit, muggle-style with a necktie and everything.  Another benefit of living at the resort: onsite laundry.  He dressed quickly and touched up his closely trimmed platinum blond hair, and once he was certain that everything was perfect down to the slithering snake cufflinks, he went downstairs to finish prepping for their guests.

The kitchen was impeccable as usual.  Draco wouldn't have it any other way, not as long as he was getting his meals from there.  The chef addressed him with crisp respect and reviewed the week's menu with him.  Then with the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, he checked the spa.

The resort's relaxation and beauty treatment centre was located in a long glassed-in room that was formerly a breezeway, which ran along the southern end of the property, opposite from his penthouse, bordered on the northern side by the tiled courtyard and pristine pool. Like the rest of the rooms all of the windows looked out onto the enchanted grounds, which were always lovely with clear skies and temperate weather.  In reality the south-facing windows should have looked out over a concrete sidewalk and a four-lane roadway beyond.  But guests of the Jumeaux Resort would never have to be troubled by such banality.  For the duration of their stay it would appear as though they were on holiday in the French Riviera.  Without the meddlesome need to leave the city, of course.

"Massage tables, check," Draco dragged his fingertips along the glove-soft leather of the cushioned furniture.  "Mud baths, check.  Leeches, check.  Gold wraps, check.  Steam rooms, check.  Aesthetician station," he paused with a frown.  "Blaise had better find someone for that.  I'm not doing pedicures."

He was almost resentful of his skill and expertise in the spa area.  He'd spent his youth resort-hopping with his family on holiday, and he'd learned more than he needed to know about all of the various pampering techniques demanded by the rich and famous.  He'd done a stint as a masseuse at a wizard hotel in the British Virgin Islands after leaving school, simply to get away from his parents' legal problems and to establish a bit of his own independence.  The work had been humbling but satisfying, although he hated dealing with clients who were as difficult as he probably had been in the past.  People who shut up and let themselves be squeezed and stretched into relaxation were fine.  Complaining sorts who were never satisfied with the level of service could go piss up a rope.

"Draco, the guests are arriving," Blaise's voice issued from the charmed lotus flower near the door.

He squared his shoulders, straightened his tie, turned with a click of his heels, and strode back into the main house to welcome their new arrivals.

Blaise was already waiting in the lobby, the enchanted luggage cart by his side. Thanks to various liberation movements over the last few years house elves were no longer allowed to be kept as unpaid labor, much to Draco's consternation. And although he had campaigned energetically to hire a fit young man to serve as porter, Blaise had refused.  So enchanted luggage carts had to do.

"Any luck finding a girl?" Draco asked as he tucked himself between Blaise and and the cart.  "Imagine if we replaced this wheeled monstrosity was a handsome young man with strong arms—"

"No," Blaise said. "We can't afford to lose any more staff."

Voices babbled outside, growing in volume as they drew nearer. They could hear the sound of rolling luggage, a necessary functionality when approaching the resort from the muggle entrance. Draco took a deep breath and settled his expression into the cool but pleasant smile that identified him as the business' owner.

The inlaid double doors swung open and eight working class men spilled into the lobby, their long overcoats wrinkled and threadbare, their bags worn and shapeless, their clothes uncoordinated and completely forgettable.

Ministry people, Draco sneered to himself. Earnest, hard working wizards who dedicated their lives to the legal machine of magical society in exchange for something that barely approached a living wage. The only word Draco could think of to describe them was daft.

He scanned the group once the doors were closed and they were no longer silhouetted against the outside sky. He noted the Head Auror seal on the cloak of the man in front, a handful of Auror seals, and— Oh Merlin—

"Zabini? Malfoy?"

Three sets of eyes blinked at them in dumbfounded recognition. Blaise and Draco blinked back. Blaise found his voice first.

"Good morning," he nodded to each in turn. "Longbottom, Weasley, Potter."

Draco's mouth went dry, like his throat was stuffed with cotton. Neville Longbottom's cloak bore the symbol of the Ministry Finance office. Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter both wore Auror insignias.  Of course. There had been something in the paper about that a couple of years ago. But Draco had been freshly back from the islands and had tried his best not to notice or remember.

Longbottom stared at him from a slightly older dopey face than the young dopey face Draco remembered from school. Weasley's ginger hair had gotten longer in the back and his physique had filled in, no longer the awkward, lanky, puppy dog of his youth. And Potter, great Merlin, then there was Potter.

He'd updated his glasses frames, that was what Draco noticed first. They were smaller, although still round, but the rims were now a softly variegated tortoiseshell rather than thin wireframes. The effect was more mature, more confident, and frankly more attractive. His hair was trimmed close to his scalp on the sides and back, with a stylish thicket of messy black locks on top. He stared at Draco with wide eyes, which Draco knew would be brilliant green up close. He was content to stay back.

"Welcome to Jumeaux, gentlemen," Blaise spoke up. "Please accept a room fob from our porter. Lace one half around your luggage handle and keep the other one as a room key. The fob will give a tug when you reach your room, and its touch will release the lock on your door. If you have any valuables you'd like to keep particularly secure you may avail yourselves of the safe in the back office."

The Ministry folks chuckled and shuffled a bit. Of course they had nothing that valuable.

"The resort is at your service," Blaise continued. "Towels are available poolside, the dining room has posted hours but you may order service at any time. The spa is available at your request, although we are unexpectedly short-staffed, so please accept our apologies as we seek to satisfy your every need as best we can until we are staffed fully once again."

"The meeting room?" The man in the Head Auror insignia knitted his brow in concern.

"Yes sir, Mister Chelsey. Second floor, overlooking the pool, straight up these stairs," Blaise waved his hand to indicate the elegantly curving marble staircase that ascended to the floor above. "If you'll provide your meeting schedule we will ensure fresh beverages and food service will be available to your group."

"Much obliged," the Head Auror grunted. He turned to address his team. "Right, go find your rooms. First meeting is three o'clock, the day is yours until then."

"If you need anything, simply look for a lotus flower, found near most doorways," Blaise pointed one out on the wall. "Request myself by name, Blaise Zabini, or my partner, Draco Malfoy. You may also call the kitchen."  He reached out to stop Neville from hefting his bag to his shoulder. "Please allow us."

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Neville dropped his bag like a cursed necklace—well that's a nice image, Draco—and smiled sheepishly at his coworkers. Then, as a group, they all ascended the stairs to find their rooms.

Blaise and Draco watched them go, and as soon as they were alone their eyes bugged out at each other and Blaise smacked Draco across the shoulder.

"What was that all about?" he hissed. "You didn't say a bloody word the whole time!"

"I'm sorry, I was a bit taken aback by the sudden appearance of Saint Potter and the Gryffindor Gang."

"No," Blaise snapped. "I will not listen to that school days rubbish. You pull yourself together and figure out how to put it behind you."

"It is behind me," Draco lied. "I was caught off guard. Something you could have easily avoided by telling me in advance."

"Even if I had known I wouldn't have thought to mention it because I live in the present."

Draco glared at him and stormed away with a harrumph. He stopped in the kitchen and ordered drink service to be made available poolside, then retreated to the office to hide so he wouldn't have to bump into his old school rivals.

"You're not spending the next four days in here," Blaise appeared in the doorway. "We have a problem."

"Already? Brilliant," Draco rubbed his face with his palm.

"One of the bags doesn't have a fob on it."

"So you don't know whose it is."

"Precisely."

"Fabulous news."

Just then the pink lotus flower next to the office door unfurled and a soft, feminine voice issued forth, "incoming message from room 205 for—"

"Um... Malfoy, I guess," a deep, masculine voice finished the page.

"Our bag owner, I presume," Draco said. He pushed himself to his feet and marched out to the lobby, then up the grand staircase with the abandoned time-worn leather satchel floating along behind him. He strode past the tall glass panes that lined the large meeting room and entered the guest lodging area on the south side of the building. Halfway down the hallway he tapped on the door of room 205.

The door flung open, startling Draco back a step. Wide green eyes—yes, brilliant up close—stared at him in surprise. Totally unjustified surprise, given that he'd paged Draco personally.

"Are you missing your bag?" Draco tried his best to keep his voice even and professional.

"What? Oh," Harry peered past him to the satchel in the hall. "I suppose I am. That's not why I called."

"How can I help you?" Through clenched teeth was professional, right?

"I can't figure out how to open the window," Harry pointed across the room. "I'd like some fresh air."

"They're not meant to be opened," Draco said flatly. "The view is charmed."

"What happens if I open it?"

"You see the rather busy roundabout outside," Draco waved impatiently at the satchel and pointed at the foot of the bed. The bag floated past him and touched down neatly on the duvet.

"Can I see?" Harry asked.

Of course he asked. Why wouldn't he ask Draco to enter his room? That would suit the awkwardness of the encounter nicely.

"It's not meant to—oh fine," Draco marched across the room, waved his wand to release the seal, and flung the left windowpane outward. On the right the glass showed a pleasant garden with well-kept shrubbery and flowering trees. On the left the open window revealed a gray sidewalk and a gray street and a gray roundabout and a gray sky. The clamour of the city pressed in on them with the discordant squawk of muggle life.

"Wow," Harry appeared at Draco's elbow and peered out through the open half, in spite of the fact that the view could have been enjoyed from anywhere in the room, thank you very much, Saint Potter.

"So you see why we recommend you spend your time poolside if you would like some fresh air," Draco swung the window shut and swished to re-seal it.

"Understandably so," Harry smiled in an odd way. Odd because it was a friendly way. Draco didn't like his attitude.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" He hated himself for being obligated to ask.

"I guess not," Harry watched him retreat to the door. "Do I owe you anything?"

Did he mean a tip?  Was he mad?  Since when did Draco Malfoy rely on tips?  "We do not accept gratuities at Jumeaux," he said, stifling the more insulting response he wished he could utter instead.  "If there is nothing else..."

"Malfoy," Harry reached out as though to stop Draco from leaving. "Um, how are you doing?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. What was he getting at, exactly? How are you doing? How. Are. You. Doing. What was the subtext? Was he implying that Draco should have been doing badly? Or that he had been doing badly and was now improved? Or maybe he meant—

"It's good to see you," Harry added with that inappropriately friendly smile again.

It's. Good. To. See. You. More code, Draco was sure of it.

"I'll see you around, I guess," Harry scratched his head and busied himself with his bag's contents.

Draco left without another word. Potter had always been a strange sort of boy. Maybe adulthood had made him stranger.


	3. Chapter 3

"Incoming message from the kitchen for—"

"Draco, put on a uniform and get down here."

Draco cursed his business partner under his breath and rocked to his feet. He changed out of his suit and into the breezy white linen trouser and tunic specified for the regular staff and flipped a vee-sign at the lotus flower by the penthouse door.  He Apparated in the kitchen, startling the chef with a noisy pop. Blaise was nowhere to be seen.

"He's in the dining room checking the place settings, Master Malfoy."

Draco stormed into the long dining hall that lay directly beneath his own penthouse suite. Blaise was still in his suit, and was waving his wand at the table to rearrange the china and cutlery. An elaborate centerpiece was forming out of dried flowers and decorative finials.

"So I'm the only one dressing for it today?" Draco demanded.

"I haven't had time to change," Blaise glanced up. "You need to take drink service out to the pool."

"That's chef's—"

"Chef is busy preparing lunch."

"Admit it, you just want me to look like your employee," Draco sneered.

"Don't act like one and no one will think that." Blaise didn't deny it, Draco noticed.

He turned on his heel and resentfully yanked the drink service cart from its storage closet, then wheeled it out to the tiled deck. Several guests were lying around on chaise lounges or splashing in the pool. Draco found their raucous revelry significantly less tranquil than he liked.

"Drinks, gentlemen?" he called. Ron Weasley popped off of his chair and scuttled over with an eager grin. Two other Aurors joined him with equal interest. Neville Longbottom swam to the shallow end of the pool and hauled himself up the ladder, water pouring off of him like a deluge.

"Do you have Butterbeer?" Ron asked.

 _It's not even noon, you ginger bollocks-for-brains_ , Draco thought. Out loud he said, "We have morning cocktails. Buck's fizz, Bloody Mary, Bellini, Lillet Rose Spring Cocktail—"

"Those sound rubbish," Ron wrinkled his nose, smushing his freckles together into a mottled blob.

"You can't have a beer before noon, Ron," one of the other Aurors chided. "I'll take a Bloody Mary, thanks," the man smiled smugly at Ron and went back to his lounge to resume his sunbathing, an activity which made Draco seethe with envy.

He wandlessly lofted several Bloody Marys around as word spread. He wasn't surprised that word was spreading. He made a bloody good Bloody Mary. Behind him the glass doors slid open and another Auror joined the group. Draco glanced back and did a massive double-take as the other guests cheered his arrival.

"Harry!" they shouted in unison.

Harry Potter stood bashfully in the doorway, feet bare and body clad only in snug swim shorts. His broad shoulders narrowed down to a trim waist, lined with defined muscles and not an ounce of spare flesh. His arms were sculpted in graceful curves from his deltoids to his biceps to his forearms, where a tattoo of a griffin stood out in bold red and black against his skin. His legs were powerfully built and between them the fabric of his swim shorts strained across the bulge of an impressive—

"—Cocktail, Malfoy," Ron was standing at the cart and trying to place an order.

Draco's attention snapped round and he quickly mixed a Bellini for the ginger twat. Behind him Harry walked to the edge of the pool, raised his arms, and dove into the water. He kicked hard and resurfaced down at the shallow end, and when he crested the surface and pushed his dripping hair back from his face, droplets flowed in winding rivulets down the hills and valleys of his body.

Draco knocked back a glass of champagne.

"This isn't half bad, Malfoy," Ron held his glass aloft appreciatively.

"What?" Draco squinted at Ron, totally lost.

"This drink. It's not half bad," Ron waggled the glass. "Hey Harry! Come get a drink!"

Harry pulled himself up the ladder to the deck, water sheeting off of him and tugging just the tiniest sag in his swim shorts, which exposed just a teeny bit of a tan line around his hips.

Draco knocked back another champagne.

"What are we having?" Harry's feet slapped across the deck as he rubbed droplets out of his eyes. "That looks good, Ron. What is it?"

"What is it?" Ron asked Draco.

"Bell—" Draco suppressed a hiccup, "Bellini."

"I'll take one," Harry smiled and leaned on the cart with one hand as Draco retrieved a glass. Ron wandered away and sat next to Head Auror Chelsea. Suck up.

"So how did you end up here, mixing drinks for Ministry men?" Harry asked.

"It's my business," Draco handed the glass over. "Felt like doing something reputable for once."

"So you don't work for Blaise?" Harry took a sip and made a small yummy noise.

"Of course not," Draco turned his attention to recorking the bottles. "I could buy and sell Blaise twenty times over."

"Hi Blaise," Harry grinned over his shoulder.

Draco whirled around but no one was there. He turned back to Harry in confusion.

"Gotcha," Harry said softly. Then he winked and joined his coworkers poolside.

Draco uncorked the champagne and swigged directly from the bottle.

***********************************************

Lunch provided a reprieve from the discomfort of the morning's events. It wasn't going too badly, Draco thought. The Aurors were enjoying themselves and he was certain the awkwardness had all been in his head. It was the short staff situation that was throwing him off. If Melody and Harmony were here it wouldn't be so weird. Right. Okay.

"I'll take my lunch upstairs," Draco said to the chef as he passed through. He did one round through the dining room, pausing here and there to ensure service was perfect, then u-turned back to the door.

"You're not joining us?" Ron called. Beside him Harry looked up with interest.

"It's not a school reunion, Weasley," Draco said. "Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen."

The room hummed with murmurs but nothing would stop his escape now. He ducked into the kitchen, seized a plate from chef's hands, and Disapparated for his room. After eating he decided to lie down for a nap. He'd already done a lot of work and he was exhausted by the prospect of more. But when the lotus flower by the door blossomed he knew he was a long way from rest.

"Incoming message from the atrium for—"

"Malfoy, I guess."

Bollocks.

Draco checked his clothing and hair in the mirror and popped directly down to the lobby, even though technically it wasn't polite.  Harry was poking through a decorative bookcase on the far wall, checking out titles by tipping his head sideways. He jumped at the sound of Draco's arrival and jammed his hand up his sleeve to conceal his impulsive grab for his wand.

"How can I help you," Draco shot a quick glance around but none of his coworkers were with him. A distant hoot and splash told him they'd gone back out to the pool.

"I'd like to see the spa. Is it open?"

"Well," Draco had to think fast. Yes, it was open, but he wasn't about to perform every task on the menu, not without help, and certainly not for Harry Potter. "I suppose. This way."

Harry followed him to the south end of the main building and hung a left to the breezeway. They stepped down two stairs into the spa and Draco held his arms out in presentation.

"Welcome to Jumeaux Spa," he said. "Full service relaxation techniques and beautification procedures. We usually have a lovely set of twins in here, Melody and Harmony, but they called in sick. And they might not be coming back," he added.

"What did you do?" Harry shot him a sly smile as he walked the perimeter of the room looking at the equipment and decor.

"Not me, I wouldn't touch them with a barge pole," Draco snorted. "Blaise shagged one of them."

"Which one?"

"Who knows?"

"That didn't go well, I take it?"

"They're a bit angry," Draco chuckled. Then he caught himself. This was not bonding time.

"What's this for?" Harry stopped at one of the deep rectangular tubs.

"Volcanic ash mud baths," Draco said. "We import our ash from Iceland. Excellent for drawing out impurities, clearing magical blockages, and improving energy flow."

"Can I try it?"

"Now?"

"Why not?"

"Don't you have an Auror meeting starting at three?"

"That's more than an hour from now."

"Well," Draco chewed his lip. "I suppose you're free to try it." He flicked his wrist and summoned a robe from across the room. "Go in the private stall back there and get fully undressed." He handed over the robe.

Harry went to the small cubicle in the corner and changed while Draco summoned a hot, slippery bath full of volcanic ash mud. It started with a speck of dirt and expanded to fill the tub nearly to the top. Tiny wisps of steam rose from the mottled gray and brown pool and the surface jiggled like pudding.

"So do I get in?"

Draco's jaw dropped.

Harry smiled innocently as he padded across the room, naked with the wadded up robe held in front of his knob to conceal it from view. He stepped up to the edge of the tub and furrowed his brow at the high stone walls.

"How do I get in?"

"You were meant to put the robe on your body, Potter," Draco choked out.

"Was I?" Harry looked down. "But I'm getting in naked anyway, right?"

"Yes but—"

"Here," Harry whipped off his glasses and shoved them at Draco. "Help me up."

Draco fumbled and deposited the tortoiseshell spectacles on a table and then grasped Harry's proffered elbow. As the other man lifted his leg over the side of the tub he let the robe fall away, revealing his knob for just a brief fleeting second before it was submerged in the mud.

"It's warm," Harry said as he drew his other leg in.

"Well we wouldn't have you sit in cold mud." Draco was pretty pleased with himself for forming actual words, given the circumstances.

"Do I get all the way down in it?" Harry raised his eyebrows and lowered himself further. His irises gleamed emerald in the soft lighting, standing out in contrast beneath his black hair and above the earthy bath.

"All the way down," Draco nodded with a hard swallow. "If you let it get all the way up to your chin you can get a pretty good chakra cleansing."

Harry slid in deeper and deeper until just his head stuck up from the surface of the mud. His eyelids fluttered and a guttural groan rippled from his throat, and seemingly through every nerve ending of Draco's body.

"Well then." He cleared a raspy burr from his throat and turned to leave. "I'll be back in about twenty minutes to help you get out."

"You're leaving?" Harry sat up, sloshing the mud with a slurpy sound.

"Yes?" Draco said hopefully. His room was calling him.

"Stay and talk," Harry said. "I'll get bored if there's no one to talk to."

Draco frowned and told himself to go. Saint Potter was used to people fawning over him. He probably didn't go anywhere without an entourage. Attractive or not, Draco didn't want to be one of those hangers on.

"Please," Harry said softly.

Draco felt his shoulders slump before he realized he was giving in. "Have it your way," he sighed.

He dragged a chair up to the side of the bath and sat, his legs extended out before him and his gaze fixed on his toes. He would not be caught gawking.

"This is brilliant," Harry said. He raised and lowered his arms, toying with the gloopiness of the viscous mud. "Where did you come up with this idea?"

"It's not my idea," Draco said. "Mud baths have been around for a millennia."

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?" Harry cocked his head and squinted suspiciously at him.

"What do you mean? I'm Draco Malfoy." An icy fear shot through his stomach. Was the Auror retreat a ruse? Was he being investigated? Should he warn Blaise? It wasn't fair! He was innocent! Why would they pick on him?

"No, I mean the Malfoy I know from Hogwarts would have jumped at the chance to claim an idea like this as his own," Harry said.

"What?"

"I mean," Harry sighed and shook his head. "Never mind. I was just trying to be friendly."

"Well why would you go and do a thing like that?" Draco asked. Harry said nothing.

They sat in silence for a while, Harry luxuriating in a moist volcanic ash suspension and Draco staring at his feet and thinking very few thoughts. Then movement from the tub brought Draco back to the present. Harry was rubbing gray mud in between his eyes, leaving a gritty smear on his skin.

"What in blazes are you doing, Potter?"

"You said it clears chakras," Harry paused. "But it's missing my third eye and crown."

"I... Well yes," Draco stammered. "But you're getting mud all over you."

"Malfoy," Harry laughed with a broad grin. "Ninety percent of my body is covered in mud."

"I suppose."

"So why not finish the job?" Harry scooped a handful of ash onto the top of his head. "There, that's all of them."

A thin rivulet of muddy water rolled down from his scalp and headed straight for his eye. Draco's hand moved automatically to wipe it away, then caught a second one that rolled down the other side. Harry said nothing, he simply laid still and let Malfoy touch his skin.

"This may not have been a good idea," Draco said dryly. "Let me fix it."

He scooped half of the pile off of Harry's head and deposited it back into the bath. Then he smeared what was left around to spread it out, catching more drops of muddy water with his other hand. Now Harry had gray streaks across his forehead and temples and both of Draco's hands were dirty.

"Do I look like a giant mud man?" Harry asked.

"Here, let me..." Draco's voice trailed off as he scooped a bit of mud onto his fingers and spread it across Harry's face. He tried to ignore the green eyes that followed him at such a close distance, and painted down his face to his cheekbones, up and over his nose, across his chin, and lastly, well...

Harry smiled, his lips stretching and making visible the area he had missed. Draco suppressed a shudder and gently swiped mud around the perimeter of his mouth. He cursed himself for hesitating in the first place. Ridiculous.

"How do I look?"

"Like a mess," Draco sat back and withdrew a hand mirror from a nearby aesthetician station. Harry took one look at himself and laughed in delight, a sound that Draco could have done without, thank you very much. Harry grasped the mirror's handle to steady it, his fingers overlapping Draco's without a care. But in doing so he flung a bit of mud onto Draco's white sleeve.

"Whoops, sorry," he reached out to swipe it away and smeared more mud on his sleeve. "Bollocks," he winced sheepishly.

"You thought you'd wipe away dirt with more dirt?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "No worries," he held out his sleeve and smirked as the soil evaporated away. "Wouldn't make sense to wear white around volcanic ash if we didn't plan for it."

"Brilliant," Harry grinned again. He raised a finger and swiped a stripe of mud down Draco's nose. Draco froze, stunned at the gesture. Harry took the opportunity to dab another dot on his chin. His grin widened, cracking the drying mud on his cheeks into a thousand little fissures.

"My face isn't charmed, Potter," Draco said with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I wouldn't say that," Harry laughed. "I think it's quite charming."

Draco goggled at him in dumbfounded bewilderment. "Are you mad?" he finally managed.

"Don't be cross," Harry sat up, volcanic ash sheeting off of his shoulders. "I'm just messing about."

"That's what's mad," Draco crossed to the sinks on the other wall and rinsed his face off. "When have we ever messed about? When have we ever been mates?"

"Never," Harry braced his hands on the sides of the tub and hauled himself out of the goop with a tremendous slurp. He staggered beneath the weight of the mud clinging to his body and his knees buckled.

Draco hurried to his side and braced him around the waist to help him step over the side of the tub. He focused on the floor to prevent himself from focusing on the fact that his arms were wrapped around his former school rival. Naked former school rival.

"I've gotten you all muddy," Harry said close to his ear as he regained his balance and let go.

"It will evaporate," Draco said. "Take your robe."

"Thanks," Harry swiped it across his face and hair like a towel, then held it in front of his knob again.

"Has the concept of the robe totally missed you?" Draco asked.

"Where's the shower?"

"Back by the changing room."

Harry slapped across the floor, leaving muddy footprints in his wake. As with Draco's uniform, the soil evaporated and disappeared without a scrub or a Scourgify. A moment later the taps in the curtained shower cubicle turned and the sounds of bathing filled the long space. Draco returned to the sink to rinse his hands again, check his face for any ash remnants, and then turned his attention to the tub. A swish and an incantation and the mud shrank into nothingness.

Harry emerged from the dressing room in his plain white button-down shirt and chestnut brown trousers. He bumped into a massage table and stumbled a bit. "Forgot my glasses," he muttered.

"Here," Draco guided them into Harry's hand. When they were on his face again, rendering his appearance so familiar that it was almost nostalgia-inducing, Draco's stomach did a strange little maneuver that he didn't approve of.

"That was brilliant. I'll have to do it again while I'm here," Harry pointed at the tub.

"Next time I'll be sure to wear a mask," Draco said. They looked at each other silently for a moment until Draco cleared his throat and indicated the large brass clock over the door. "Isn't it about time for your meeting?"

"I suppose so," Harry nodded. "Well, thanks for the relaxation. See you later."

"See you later," Draco murmured. He watched Harry leave with a twinge of disappointment.


	4. Chapter 4

"Open up, Draco."

"Alohomora."

Blaise stood in the doorway of the penthouse suite with a frown of mild disapproval. "Were you napping?"

"So what if I was?" Draco scratched his head and yawned. It had been a good nap, filled with the kind of dreams that left him feeling warm.

"It's almost supper time."

"So?"

"So someone needs to call the escort service."

"And that person has to be me?"

"You're bloody well right it has to be you! I've been working for the past two hours. You've been up here sleeping." he stormed in and glared around the living room area.

"Don't say it," Draco recognized the look in his eye.

"If you would find a flat of your own we could let this space out to guests." Blaise said predictably.

"Start booking the penthouse on the other side more regularly and maybe I would see the demand for it," Draco shot back, also predictably.

"It could be a ballroom if we knocked out some walls."

"You're not knocking out my walls."

"Anyway, I've got cocktails to mix. You start calling escort services," Blaise glared at him once more for good measure and stormed out.

Draco tossed his rumpled white uniform into the hamper and changed back into a suit. He straightened his jacket, poked an old Slytherin House pin through his green silk tie, and headed downstairs.

As expected the guests were relaxing by the pool again. Four Aurors were out on the clay tennis court beyond, trying their best to get a volley going.  Harry was sitting with Ron, Neville, and the Head Auror, talking closely and sipping mixed drinks that Draco knew would be strong, because Blaise always mixed strong drinks. The man substituted aggression for finesse.

He paused by the cart to pick up a cosmopolitan, exchanging heavily coded looks between himself and his business partner. He won out in the end, but as he raised the glass to his lips he heard a sound that made his blood run cold.

Neville Longbottom was laughing.

It wasn't just any laugh. It was a pissed-on-cocktails, no-inhibitions laugh. And Draco knew that laugh. He knew it well.

"What's wrong?" Blaise spotted his expression and froze. "Draco, what is it?"

"Oh Salazar," Draco set his glass down and ran for the atrium, then doubled back, downed the cosmo in one gulp, and ran for the atrium again.

"What is it?" Blaise ran after him. "What happened?"

"Oh gods, oh Merlin, oh anybody," Draco moaned.

"If you don't tell me—"

"Neville Longbottom is bent!" Draco hissed in the world's loudest stage whisper.

"What? Keep your voice down. What are you talking about?"

"Oh gods," Draco paced and raked a hand through his hair. "You know those parties I used to go to? The masquerade ones?"

"The all-boy affairs, of course I do," Blaise raised an eyebrow, then the other as he made the connection. "You saw Longbottom at one?"

"Yes!" Draco stopped pacing and clutched his stomach. "I only went to three or four. Maybe five. It was just after I got back from the islands and was trying to meet people. After the first two I realized it was mostly the same blokes showing up. Just different masks, different themes. Voices get familiar fast in that kind of situation."

"Get to the point."

"At the third one there was a new fellow. Came with a friend, who said he was just there to meet new people." Draco paced back and forth again. "He ended up standing next to me at the bar and we talked for a bit and then he said—oh fuck, this is bad."

"What?"

"He said 'I want to suck you off.'"

"No! Did you let him?"

"Well what do you think I was going to do? Say no?" Draco's voice rose, cracking from a whisper to a squeak. "Of course I let him! We went out to the balcony and he sucked me off." He buried his face in his hands and groaned. "I recognized his stupid laugh out there. He has the world's stupidest laugh when he's pissed."

"Great Merlin's ghost," Blaise breathed. "If you told me this morning that I would learn that Longbottom is a poof who sucked you off I would have called you a liar."

"What am I going to do?"

"Well," Blaise fluttered his fingers across his lower lip. "Call the escort service and have them send some boys, too."

"I am not having rent boys in my hotel!" Draco snapped. Blaise shushed him with a panicked glance over his shoulder.

"Just go ask him if he'd prefer some companionship," Blaise said.

"You're mad."

"We're a full service resort!"

"You're mad!"

"Go ask!"

Blaise and Draco glowered at each other, each too stubborn to give in. Draco made a feint and Blaise lunged for his wand, so Draco lunged for his wand, and then they were locked in a dueling stance, wands aimed and ready.

"Since we're reliving school days with our old mates perhaps you'd like a Bat Bogey Hex," Blaise growled.

"Mates? You really are mad," Draco snarled in return. "How'd you like to spit slugs for a week?"

"What's going on in here?"

Draco and Blaise whipped their wands back into their holsters and affected mirrored nonchalant poses.

Ron blinked at them from the doorway, Harry was behind him, silhouetted by the setting sun.

"How may we help you?" Blaise smiled, although Draco was certain he detected a waft of venom in his voice, which meant he was feeling off-kilter. Good. He was getting too big for his knickers. Shaking him up a bit would solve that problem.

"I wanted to know—" Ron started nervously, "if you were going to—"

"Ron, don't," Harry said behind him.

"It's fine, Harry, don't henpeck me," Ron whined. "It's just company, it doesn't have to—"

"Would your wife—"

"Don't say it—"

"We will be providing some companionship this evening," Blaise interrupted. "Purely for social enjoyment. Conversation."

"See?" Ron smiled smugly. "Thank you. Will there be beer or just the fruity cocktails?"

"We will provide beer and spirits," Draco said with the thinnest of professional smiles.

Ron pushed past Harry and returned to the pool. Harry scratched the back of his head and chuckled awkwardly.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, his eyes lingering on Draco. Then he, too, returned to the pool.

"Go call now," Blaise whirled on Draco as soon as they were alone.

Draco stomped off in a huff to the upstairs Floo and made the fastest call for escorts in history. He snapped, "ten girls, Jumeaux, now," and pulled his head out of the emerald flames. It was a good service. They would definitely—

The doorbell rang.

Excellent.

Draco ran lightly down the stairs to the front door and let nearly a dozen beautiful witches in. He was familiar with most, they knew the resort, they would take care of their guests. He kissed each lady's hand as she entered and accepted shawls, robes, and furs with grace. When they walked outside in a line an appreciative cheer went up among the guests.

"Go ask Longbottom if he wants some company," Blaise appeared at Draco's elbow.

"You ask him!"

"I'm certain he would be more comfortable being approached by a," Blaise paused, "teammate."

"Teammate," Draco sighed. "You're an utter twat, Blaise."

"Go now, before he starts feeling uncomfortable."

Draco walked outside and had a look around. Head Auror Chelsey was seated between two girls who were half his age. Several other guests had paired up, too, just conversations and drinks for now. Chef was busy pouring a tall Butterbeer for Ron, whose cheeks were aflame as a tall blonde stood fetchingly at his side.

Neville was sitting with a petite brunette near the diving board, both sipping their drinks in silence. Draco approached casually and gestured for the call girl to give them some privacy. He sat next to Neville and tried not to notice that the man leaned away just slightly.

_Don't remember me, eh? Maybe you'd remember if I popped my cock in your mouth and—_

"Listen," he said under his breath. "I know you have different preferences, shall we say, and I can make arrangements for a different sort of companion if you'd like."

"I don't understand," Neville stared at him with dopey wide eyes.

Of course not.

"Men, Longbottom, rent boys," Draco enunciated.

"What? Me? Well I, of course I never, I mean," Neville spluttered. "Why would you, I mean I don't—"

"I've seen you at parties."

"Oh," Neville's face went so red that it looked like it would burst.

"It's fine," Draco said. "I was there too."

"Right. Oh!  Right!" Neville sat up straight as he understood Draco's meaning. "Listen. Malfoy. Listen."

"I'm listening."

"That was a phase of my life when," he squinted in search of the right words, "I was curious. I wasn't sure what I wanted. But I'm married and we have a baby on the way. It's not that I don't want women, it's that I'm loyal to my wife."

"You'd be the only one," Draco looked around pointedly. "Well, and I guess Potter over there." He pointed at Harry, who leaned against the wall near the door with a drink in his hand, eyes cast downward.

"Oh no, he's gay," Neville shrugged. "Like real gay, not like confused," he smiled awkwardly and touched his own chest.

"Oh." It was Draco's turn to sit up straight. "It would seem I've approached the wrong man."

"I guess so," Neville said. "Malfoy, you won't say anything--"

"It's in the vault, Longbottom," Draco rose to his feet. "I assume you will extend the same courtesy?"

"Of course!" Neville nodded quickly.

Draco waved the brunette escort back over and slowly approached Harry, where he was tucked between the door frame and the window, pressed up against the flagstone wall. He looked up as Draco approached and his miserable frown melted into a relieved smile.

"Hey," he lifted his chin in greeting.

"Hi," Draco shoved his hands in his pockets, then realized how casual he appeared and yanked them free. He crossed his arms across his chest and then dropped them. He cleared his throat and grimaced. "This is hard for me to say."

"What is it?" Harry looked intrigued. He shifted his weight to narrow the distance between them. Draco's heart rate skyrocketed.

"I, well, I was told, and it's okay because I am too, so no judgement, that you, um," Draco winced and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?" Harry chuckled softly. The sound made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck prickle.

"What do you mean? Am I usually more eloquent?" he asked, thankful for the momentary distraction.

"No," Harry's smile widened. "You said you're sorry."

"Oh," Draco frowned. He considered ignoring the comment but just couldn't. "You know, it has been five years since we last saw each other, Potter. You might try giving me a chance."

"Maybe," Harry's tone was teasing. "Why, have you changed much?" He shifted casually against the wall, moving a bit closer and leaning in to speak.

"I'd like to think so," Draco shoved his hands back into his pockets. He was suddenly self-conscious about still wearing a suit. "I've tried to make amends, you know."

"I heard rumors."

Harry was staring intensely at him. Around the deck Blaise had lit torches and turned on some music, which lent a party atmosphere to the pool area. The flames reflected off of Harry's glasses and gave him a devilish look. Draco realized that everyone else was socializing, but he and Harry were locked in a conversational duel at the fringes of the activity. He stepped back and mumbled something about guest duties.

"Is the spa open?" Harry asked.

"Well," Draco thought hard. "The reason I came over was to offer to call a male escort service for you, if it would make you more comfortable during the evening social event."

"I can't think of anything that would make me less comfortable, Malfoy," Harry laughed.

"Sorry, Longbottom said you were—"

"I am," Harry said. "But an escort, that sounds bloody awful."

Draco eyed him appraisingly. "I agree," he said in all honesty. "Come on, I'll open the spa."


	5. Chapter 5

"Gold wrap, what's that?"

Harry sat in a pedicure chair and read the service menu. Draco emerged from the changing room in a clean spa uniform. He opened a drawer and showed rolls of gleaming gold leaf.

"We slather you in oils and then wrap you from head to toe in real gold. When you're unwrapped your skin will look ten years younger."

"I'm not sure I want the skin of my fourteen-year-old self back," Harry said.

"You didn't have bad skin," Draco closed the drawer and went to the sink to wash his hands.

"How would you know? You never got close enough to see," Harry looked up from the menu.

"I got close enough," Draco said. "I certainly looked at you often enough."

"Really," Harry smiled slyly. "Were you looking at me?"

"Well," Draco spluttered, "everyone was looking at you. Everyone looked at you all of the time. Boy Who Lived, you know."

"Yes, I know," Harry brushed his fingers across the scar on his forehead. He looked up thoughtfully, "Do you have any skin treatments that could remove a scar?"

"What? Why?"

"Maybe to get away from it. From what it means," Harry shrugged. "To me and to everyone else."

"You don't want to get rid of your scar, Potter," Draco said. "It's part of who you are."

"Don't defend it," Harry said. "You've always hated it."

"No," Draco gently pushed back his hair to reveal the lightning bolt mark. "I hated the way it made you special. And by contrast made me unspecial.  Not destined for greatness."

Harry stared up at him over his glasses rims but said nothing. Draco released his hair and went back to the sink.

"What is Swedish Massage Therapy?"

"It's a massage. A regular old massage," Draco's stomach tensed. He was torn between hoping Harry would move on to the next menu item and hoping he wouldn't.

"Can I have that?"

Oh gods yes. Oh gods no.

"Take a robe and go get undressed," Draco didn't look up from the sink. He hoped Harry didn't catch how breathless his voice sounded. Strange that his voice would do something so odd. While Harry changed Draco lectured himself about propriety and self-control.

"Where do you want me?" Harry pushed open the dressing room door with the robe wadded up in front of his knob again. His broad shoulders were canted at a self-conscious angle and his chest and abdominal muscles were tensed and defined.

Draco began to sweat.

"Have you honestly forgotten the purpose of a robe?" His voice was too loud now. It was out of order.

"You don't massage through the robe, do you?" Harry looked down and clutched the wad of white fabric tighter in his grip

"Just lie down," Draco waved his hand at the brown leather-clad table and readied a sheet. He swept it over Harry as soon as he laid down and tried not to notice the way it settled into every curve, particularly accentuating the shape and size of his knob and bollocks. "Turn over," he said, his voice thick. Why? Why was his voice betraying him?

Draco waved a hand at the door and locked it, because if ever he didn't want to be walked in on, it was now. He pumped a squirt of almond oil into his hands and rubbed them vigorously to warm it.

"This is an odd turn for my life to take," Harry murmured from the hole in the cushion where his face poked through. "I'm about to get a back rub from Draco fucking Malfoy."

"Is that what you call me?" Draco asked mildly. He drew back the sheet to Harry's waist and laid his slick palms on Harry's shoulder blades. "And it's more than just a back rub."

He leaned his weight into the heels of his hands and pushed outward, dragging through the lines of Harry's back muscles and drawing downward in one fluid motion. Harry groaned in surprised pleasure, sending a ripple of satisfaction through Draco's pelvis. He pressed down again and and moved in small circles, working the strong muscle fibers of Harry's back with a firm touch.

"Merlin, Malfoy," Harry gasped as Draco worked his thumbs up both sides of his spine. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I've had it done to me hundreds of times," Draco worked his fingers into Harry's deltoid muscles. "And after school I did a year and a half as a masseuse at a posh resort."

"It's brilliant," Harry groaned again.

Draco smiled to himself, a bit smug over Harry's reaction. The man was slowly turning into jelly beneath his fingertips. He thought about how the power dynamic had to have changed in order for this moment to come to pass. Harry had to have decided to trust him in a way he would have never conceived possible. And actually, if he had to really consider it, it required Draco to trust Harry, too. Neither one was in a position to strike, both had to allow a degree of vulnerability to be shared between them.

He moved to Harry's arms, first bending and stretching and pulling, then squeezing and kneading the muscles. When he got to Harry's hands he pressed his thumbs into the palms in tiny circles, then pulled his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

Next came the legs. He worked the back of his thighs, finding two distinctly ticklish spots, one in the middle just below his arse cheeks and the other behind his knees. He worked the calf muscles over and then stroked either side of his Achilles tendons.

"On your back, Golden Boy," Draco said with what might be construed as a saucy tone. He'd given up on trying to control his voice.

Harry rolled over and allowed Draco to adjust the headrest to support him. Then Draco pumped more oil into his hands and stood over Harry, their eyes locked as he warmed his palms. Harry licked his lips and his fingers fluttered the edges of the sheet. Draco found it all terribly distracting in a terribly lovely way.

Without breaking eye contact he pressed his palms into Harry's pectoral muscles and pushed outward, smirking when Harry's eyelids fluttered closed. He worked his way up to his shoulders again and kneaded down to his biceps, eliciting more groans. He chuckled and squashed down a crazy urge to slip one of Harry's fingers into his mouth.

"I think you're enjoying this as much as I am," Harry cracked an eyelid and peered at him.

"No one on earth has ever enjoyed anything as much as you're enjoying this," Draco replied.

"I'd say you're arrogant but oh," Harry's comment dwindled in another moan as Draco moved to his head and began massaging his scalp.

"You're putty in my hands, Potter," Draco lightly dragged his fingertips through Harry's hair, raising goosebumps all down his body. "This next part might just destroy you."

"You're finally getting your wish, then," Harry cracked an eye open again.

"Hm," Draco grunted noncommittally. He hefted one of Harry's feet and held it aloft with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh Merlin," a slow grin spread across Harry's face.

Draco pressed his thumb deep into the sole of his foot and pushed from his heel to his toes. Harry arched his back and groaned in ecstasy, his hands clutching the sheet. Draco went in for a second push.

"I never wanted you destroyed," he said softly. He pressed his knuckles into the meat of Harry's heel and rocked it back and forth, eliciting another groan of approval. "I saw you as the focal point of most of the things that were painful in my life."

"And you wanted me destr— oh," Harry breathed.

Draco worked his way across his toes, bending and pulling and kneading. Harry's feet were large and callused, nearly as wide as they were long. They were not elegant feet, they were hard working feet belonging to someone who spent most of his time on the move, not lounging by pools.

"I didn't want you destroyed," Draco said. He lifted Harry's other foot and began squeezing. "I wanted the pain to stop. And since you represented that pain—"

"You wanted me destroyed," Harry lifted his head and gazed with feverish half-lids at him.

Draco paused and felt a sadness weigh on his shoulders, a weight he had run all the way to the Caribbean Ocean to escape, only to come back and find it still waiting for him. "I wanted you destroyed," he said softly.

Harry watched him for a moment and then laid his head back. "It's okay," he said. "I understand." He peeked down again. "Besides, when it really came down to it, you saved me from being destroyed."

"Yeah," Draco breathed. It did nothing to lift the weight. Too little too late. But it did help to feel like he had Harry's forgiveness. Not that he wanted to need it. He still thought of him as a prat. There, that thought helped lift the weight a bit, let him shove it out of his mind again.

He kneaded and squeezed and rubbed and stretched, trying not to notice the way the sheet was starting to tent across Harry's midsection. A natural reaction, not a conscious choice. Who wouldn't get hard after being touched like that? Besides, Draco had it on good authority that he was quite the turn-on.

Whoa there.

"You're amazing, Malfoy," Harry sighed when Draco finally released his foot and stepped back.

"So I've been told," he said with a smug smile.

"Sorry about that," Harry glanced down at the peak in the sheet.

"Totally normal."

"I don't suppose..."

"What?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I've heard of a thing, something they do at massage parlors," Harry said hesitantly. "It's called a happy ending."

"Massage parlor? Like a whore house?" Draco frowned.

"No, like, you can get a massage and at the end for a bit more money," Harry waved his hand vaguely. "Happy ending."

"Are you asking if you can pay me to yank you off?" Draco asked coldly.

"No," Harry propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought--"

"I'm not a rent boy, Potter," Draco went to the sink to wash his hands. "You can get changed now."

"Malfoy—"

"I need to be heading upstairs.  I have to get up early to prepare for breakfast," Draco tried to keep his tone light, his gaze fixed on his sudsy hands. "Hopefully Blaise will have some new girls to fill in tomorrow so I won't have to do this again."

"Malfoy—"

Draco turned and stared at Harry, drying up the rest of the words in his throat. He slumped to the changing cubicle and when he emerged he could only glance at Draco guiltily.

"Well," he said, his hand on the door. "I really did enjoy it. You're very talented. I didn't mean to make you feel cheap."

"Thank you," Draco dried his hands off and refused to look up.

"Good night."

"Good night."


	6. Chapter 6

Sleep didn't come easily. Draco tossed and turned and glared into the darkness, preoccupied by the way in which his evening had ended. He knew he wasn't truly mad at Harry, he hadn't intended his request the way Draco had interpreted it. So why had he taken it with hostility?

Probably because he wanted to do what Harry wanted him to do. And there was a part of him that still resented Harry for getting what he wanted. A stupid, childish part of himself that wanted to see Harry lose out, to be turned down, to not get any special treatment.

Which was especially stupid since none of that school days rubbish mattered anymore. The dark days were buried in the past. And clearly Harry didn't care about any of that anymore.  And if he didn't care, why should Draco care? That was the question that haunted him and kept him awake.

Sleep came late in the night, when fitful thoughts finally gave way to quiet slumber. When the lotus flower summoned him awake he felt less rested than he wanted to, but more rested than he expected to.

He dressed in a suit and went down to the kitchen to oversee breakfast preparation, even arriving before Blaise. He perfected the table setting, set up the buffet, then flung the doors open on the pool side of the dining room to let the lovely cool morning air in.

"What's our head count this morning?" he asked as Blaise poked his head into the room.

"Eight. None of the witches stayed last night. They mostly shared spells and drinks and went home when everyone turned in." He shook his head in amazement. "All loyal married men, it seems."

"Not all of them." Draco's wand was in his hand and he was coaxing the ceiling into a magical display of a forested sky, with dappled sunlight spilling through the branches.

"I saw you leave with Potter," Blaise said. "Shall I assume?"

"No you shall not," Draco stepped back to admire his work. "He wanted some spa time. I obliged but did not stray from the menu."

"Did he want to stray from the menu?" Blaise asked. "Should I assume he's, shall we say, comfortable with a male aesthetician?"

"He's comfortable," Draco nodded. "He asked to stray from the menu."

"And you said no?" Blaise frowned. "Draco, you let Longbottom slobber all over your knob. I'm straight and even I know Potter is fit. Why would you say no to him?"

"Okay first, I did not let Longbottom do anything. I let a stranger do something and if I had known it was Longbottom I would have said no." Draco's words came out fast and annoyed. "Second, I don't know why I said no to Potter."

"Because he's Potter."

"Indubitably."

The first guests began to filter in, hungover and dehydrated from the night before. Head Auror Chelsey had provided a schedule of meeting times so Draco knew they would be heading upstairs for the first of several long presentations at nine o'clock. He planned on being as lazy as possible while they were occupied.

Ron and Harry drifted in last. Ron looked like death warmed over, his hair rumpled, his eyes baggy, and his lips parched. Harry, on the other hand, looked rested enough. But his shoulders were rounded and his expression was withdrawn. He glanced at Draco before moving on to the buffet line with his plate.

Draco felt terrible. There was no reason for him to have reacted so coldly last night. It was all just stupid bloody history and old habits. Totally pointless hostility.

When everyone was seated Draco moved around the table with a teapot, topping off cups and making sure everyone was satisfied. He stopped between Ron and Harry and let his hand drop lightly onto Harry's shoulder.

"All right here?" he asked. "Feeling a bit rough around the edges, Weasley?" He left his hand on Harry's shoulder and drew his thumb down his neck. Just once to try to make amends for his poor behavior. Harry looked up in bewilderment but didn't shrug out of his grasp.

"I'll be fine, Malfoy," Ron grumbled. "Just need food."

"Well if anyone needs anything please let me know," Draco squeezed Harry's shoulder once more, then took his leave. He could feel Harry's eyes on him as he left.

Once the guests had adjourned to the meeting room upstairs Draco felt free to take care of himself for a while. He popped up to his room to change clothes, then popped down to the atrium to make sure everything was still going as expected. He could hear Blaise at the back office Floo cajoling an old girlfriend into running the spa for a few days, but it didn't sound like it was going well.

Since no one needed him at the moment, he went where his heart was leading him: the pool. He shucked his sandals beside his favorite chaise lounge and yanked his t-shirt over his head. Glorious radiance from the ever-pleasant sun enrobed him in its warmth. He stretched his arms over his head, adjusted his slim-fit swim shorts, and padded to the edge of the water where the blue and white tile curved from the deck to the pool walls.

One graceful leap from the deck, a perfect stroke to the other side, and he crested in the shallows feeling like a renewed man. If he'd learned anything during his time in the Virgin Islands, it was that his soul needed water and sun.

He pushed his platinum hair back from his face and splashed his chest and arms a few times for good measure. Then he ascended the ladder and returned to his chaise.

He glanced up at the second floor windows as he angled his seat for perfect sun exposure. He could see the Aurors who were seated closest to the glass, all focused on the far side of the room, where someone, perhaps Longbottom, was making boring chit-chat about staffing or crime rates or whatever it was they were up there to discuss.

But there was one face not pointed towards the opposite end of the room. Draco felt a smile lift the corner of his mouth. Like what you see, eh, Potter?

He stretched his arms up again to smooth back his short hair, knowing that doing so would elongate his torso and show the toned, trim lines of his physique. Then he turned, bent over to adjust his sandals and give Harry a good look at his arse, and then he laid on the chair with his legs extended. There, that ought to give him something to think about.

He'd only just achieved perfect sun-nap stasis, where his sunblock spell was the proper strength relative to the sun's rays, his skin had reached the ideal sunning temperature, and his mind had reached its sun-soaking zen, when a shadow cut across his face and interrupted it all.

"Sod off, Blaise, you're blocking my sun."

"How do you stay so pale if you lay out like this?" A deeper voice answered.

Draco's heart rate skyrocketed but he affected a bored, casual demeanor. He looked up and squinted at Harry Potter's silhouette against the sun.

"To the left, Potter," he said. Harry obeyed, shifting his shadow so that it fell across Draco's chest. "Sunblock charm," he drawled. He closed his eyes as though falling asleep again.

Harry stood silently for a moment, then his shoes scuffled as he turned to walk away. That was what Draco was waiting for.

"Like what you see?" he called.

The sound of Harry's shoes halted. "Like you don't already know the answer to that," he murmured. Three of his officemates walked out onto the deck with brunch plates in hand.

"I'd like to hear you say it," Draco cracked one eye open again. This felt better, the power dynamic was more equal here than when he was servicing Harry in the spa.

Harry checked over his shoulder and jammed his hands into his pockets. He chuckled and ducked his head, a tiny blush reddening his cheeks. Yes, this was a much better power dynamic.

Harry raked his eyes hungrily down the length of Draco's body. His gaze practically had fingertips, and it was like being stroked from head to toe. Draco considered purring.

"Yes," Harry's voice was soft. "I like what I see."

"I know," Draco let a sly smile creep over his face and closed his eyes again. He heard Harry chuckle to himself and then walk back inside with the others for their second morning meeting.

Twenty minutes before lunch a shadow fell across Draco again as he was sunning his back. This time it was Blaise, his frown of disapproval etched into his skin.

"You need to get dressed and make sure lunch goes smoothly," he said. When Draco opened his mouth to complain he cut him off with a wave of his hand. "No, don't speak. You've been out here for more than two hours. It's time to get up and run your business."

"Bastard," Draco snarled. But he rose to his feet, slipped on his sandals, and went inside.

As he was ascending the stairs the door to the conference room swung open and guests started filing out. In a panic Draco Disapparated and landed with a loud pop just outside of his door, which he now regretted adding anti-apparition protection to. He flexed his wrist and drew his wand from the bottomless pocket in his swim shorts and raised it to swish.

"Malfoy."

Draco whirled around. Harry was standing at the bend in the hallway, peering at him with curiosity.

"Potter. Pardon me, I just need to get changed."

"Is this your office?" Harry crept towards him as though Draco were a small animal who was easily frightened. He reached out and grazed his hand down Draco's arm, a smile flickering faintly across his lips. "You're still warm from the sun."

"It was brilliant today," Draco ignored the goosebumps that raised up and down his skin.

"I was a bit envious," Harry said. "And a bit distracted."

Draco smiled. "Good."

Harry checked over his shoulder and shuffled closer. "Good?"

"Well, you know."

_Egads it's getting snug in here._

"Malfoy--"

"Potter, listen," Draco had a hard time looking into his eyes. Harry was at least an inch taller, and his gaze was fixated on Draco. "Listen, Potter. I need to get dressed for lunch service."

"Now?" Harry reached a finger out and trailed it down Draco's arm again.

"You're mad, you know that?" Draco was pressed with his back against the door, the inlaid wood cold against his bare skin.

"Maybe I am," Harry murmured. He was almost pressed up against Draco now. He tipped his head and nuzzled his nose into the whisper-fine stubble along Draco's jaw. An electric jolt fired down Draco's spine and spread through his groin like wildfire.

"You hate me," he gasped. Harry slipped a hand around his waist and pulled him into his arms.

"No I don't," Harry murmured into his ear.

"We've never liked each other," another gasped protest.

"That was ages ago."

"Five years."

"I don't care," Harry breathed.

"Harry, oh, sorry," Ron appeared in the hall behind them and immediately averted his eyes. Harry and Draco pushed away from each other and tried to affect a conversational distance between them. Ron sighed laboriously. "For Merlin's sake, Harry. It's time for lunch."

Draco swished and flicked and threw the door open. "I'll be down in a moment," he said. Harry nodded and eyed him regretfully before following Ron downstairs. Draco flung himself down on the bed and groaned in agony, then flipped onto his back and had the fastest wank in history. It put even his furtive Hogwarts bathroom wanks to shame.

Somewhat relieved he dressed in a spa uniform and went downstairs to offer mostly superficial supervision to the dining room. He pointedly kept his eyes off of Harry, preferring to make it to the end of the service without another erection.

After lunch Head Auror Chelsea announced that everyone could have an hour of relaxation before the next session. Seven guests went outside, one stayed behind. Draco folded his arms across his chest and waited for him to say it.

"Is the spa open?"

"I suppose so."

He led the way across the building to the glassed-in breezeway and skipped down the two steps to the spa floor. He went to the main counter to retrieve the menu but Harry was upon him as soon as the door was closed. He slipped his arms around Draco's waist from behind and nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

"Ye gods, Potter, get control of yourself," Draco gasped. He twisted out of Harry's arms and swept his hand in a slash to draw all of the drapes along the pool side wall.

Harry's cheeks were flushed and he grinned self-consciously. "Can I choose whatever I want to do?" he asked.  

"Obviously, Potter."

"I want to return the favor and give you a massage."

"That would be highly unusual," Draco's voice cracked a bit, startling him and widening Harry's grin.

"Please?" Harry asked.

"I don't know."

"Come on," Harry patted the table. "Hop up."

The idea was too appealing to resist.

Draco stripped out of his clothing and climbed up onto the table, quickly draping the sheet over his cock and balls. Then he rolled onto his stomach and placed his face in the hole in the head support.

He heard Harry pump oil into his hands and rub them together, and the next thing he knew strong, powerful fingers were digging into the muscles of his back and eliciting a groan of delicious pleasure from his throat.

Harry was good. He used confident pressure, firm but not hard enough to hurt, and he stroked in long, even lines that pushed the tension right out of Draco's body. He squeezed and kneaded Draco's legs, his shoulders, his arms and hands, and unlike Draco he gave into temptation and licked one of his fingers before moving to his other hand.

Draco was instantly and uncomfortably hard.

"Turn over."

"Okay but try not to read too much into this," he rolled onto his back and tried to maintain a dignified expression when the sheet tented prodigiously over his cock.

An enormous grin spread across Harry's face. "Well then," he breathed.

Another pump of oil and he was working across Draco's chest, then carefully skirting his groin, then down his thighs, and finally his feet. Draco was particularly sensitive in his feet.  Goosebumps flared up and down his body at the first squeeze.

"You're really enjoying this," Harry marveled."I wasn't sure you would trust me enough to let me do this."

"Well if you don't care about the past then I don't— oh," Draco's eyelids fluttered shut as Harry stroked a thumb down the arch of his foot.

"Then why does it feel like you're hesitating?" Harry paused, eliciting a disappointed moan from his subject.

"Because," Draco searched for an answer. "Because it doesn't make sense."

"Does it have to?" Harry began kneading again.

"Ideally, yes." Draco's tongue felt too thick for conversation.

Harry released his foot and rested his hands on Draco's legs. When Draco raised his head Harry was gazing half-lidded at Draco's draped cock. He looked up and swallowed hard, for the first time appearing nervous.

"What is it?" Draco knew what he hoped it was, but didn't want to assume.

"I want to suck your cock," Harry's voice was nearly a whisper.

To Draco's embarrassment his knob answered before he did, bobbing and becoming so incredibly hard that he could have exploded.

"Here?"

"Yes," Harry circled the table with his hand tracing lines up Draco's leg to his bollocks. He cupped them through the sheet and squeezed gently. A tiny damp spot darkened the cloth covering the tip of his shaft.

Draco couldn't answer. All he could do was nod.

Harry gently lifted the sheet and set it aside, then lowered his mouth and engulfed Draco in one smooth dip of his head.

"Fuck," Draco mashed his fist into his mouth and tried not to rattle off a string of profanity.

Harry drew up in a long, slow pull, then dove back down until his nose was pressed up against Draco's lower abdomen. His control was finely honed, no hint of a gag reflex. No teeth, just a preternaturally acrobatic tongue and— fuck.

Harry bobbed his head faster now, over and over, sucking and pulling with one hand massaging his bollocks, and Draco didn't know how long he could hang on. He shuddered and gasped and tried not to rudely thrust into Harry's throat but it was damn near impossible to control. Harry swept his other hand in and grasped the base of his shaft and squeezed, creating an amazing counter-rhythm to his mouth, and even though Draco wanted to hold out even just a moment longer so it wouldn't have to end, the spark flared and raced up his spine like the flame trail of a Romanian Fireflight dragon.

He bit down hard on his knuckle to suppress the shout, which only served to lengthen the climax, and arched his back in a long, suspended convulsion. Harry moved with him, riding his wildly bucking hips like he was breaking a wild horse, and brought him back down the other side of climax with a soft release.

"Salazar's ghost, Potter," Draco panted, the heels of his hands pressing against his eyes. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"Enjoyed that, did you?" Harry wiped his mouth with the discarded sheet and then laid it over Draco's exposed body.

"Obviously," Draco sat up and looked around for his clothes. The oil had soaked in and left his skin feeling smooth and soft. He hopped down from the table and dressed quickly, aware that Harry's eyes were on him the whole time. "So, um."

"I probably need to be getting back to the group," Harry smiled apologetically.  Which was completely ridiculous since Draco owed him one and should be apologizing for the lack of time—

"Maybe after supper?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Potter," Draco removed Harry's glasses and cleaned a stray spot off of the lenses with his shirt tail, "I am tremendously in your debt. You can call it in anytime."

"Yeah?" Harry's grin widened and he ducked his head in a giddy shrug. He punched Draco lightly in the shoulder, "All right then. See you later."

"Cheers."

Draco watched him leave, all broad shoulders and messy black hair and an arse that would reduce a Greek god to tears.

He collapsed against the table and exhaled slowly. What a thing to happen. How was this even in the realm of reality? If someone Apparated right then to tell him it had all been a hallucination brought on by a hex, he would have believed them.

Just then Blaise popped into the room with his mouth set in a stern line.

"Don't you dare tell me I've been hexed," Draco said.

"Calm down, I was just waiting for Potter to leave," Blaise waved his hand for silence. "I found someone to cover the spa tomorrow."

"Twins?"

"I'm a wizard, Draco, not a miracle maker," Blaise sighed. "But I have a lead on twins."

"Good."

"So you won't have to be the one responsible when Potter asks to be serviced."

Draco cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"You didn't."

"No," Draco cocked his head. "But he might have."

"What?" Blaise hissed. He waved his hand and wandlessly slammed the door for privacy. "What did he do?"

"He wanted to give me a massage," Draco shrugged. "So I said yes."

"And you got a happy ending?" Blaise's eyes were wide with the thrill of gossip.

"The happiest sort of ending," Draco drew one finger down the corner of his mouth.

"Rubbish, I don't believe it," Blaise smacked himself in the forehead. "You realize that two of the eight Ministry staff out there have gone down on you, don't you? That's a quarter of our current roster."

"Not bad," Draco smiled smugly.

"So what are you going to do now? Is that it, or is this a hook-up?" Blaise asked.

"I don't know, actually," Draco frowned. "I'm not sure what he's after."

"What are you after?"

"I don't know that either."

Blaise patted him on the arm. "Just be careful. This is your life. But Potter," he looked around the spa, "Potter is on holiday."


	7. Chapter 7

Leave it to Blaise to muck everything up. Draco had been perfectly fine to just let things play out, but his school chum couldn't let him do that without inserting a bit of self-doubt. He was right, Harry was on holiday, which meant he was probably approaching Draco with different intentions from what they would be in another situation.

Holidays were insulating, they offered safe fantasies with the promise of no complications. Which wasn't to say that Draco wanted something complicated. He'd only just come to grips with wanting anything at all. He'd only just come to grips with the idea that Harry was attracted to him. Actually, back that up further, he'd only just come to grips with the idea that Harry Potter didn't hate him.

Why did it have to mean anything? Why did there have to be any grips to come to? Why couldn't they just fool around and have some fun and move on? It would be like one of the masquerade parties, but without the masks.

Except Draco had stopped going to those parties. He'd found them unfulfilling and they made him feel cheap. They made him feel like he was nothing but a vehicle for his cock, and he didn't like feeling so simplified.

Maybe that was why he was curled up on the sofa in his suite rather than out on the deck while the Aurors continued their day-long series of meetings. Maybe he was feeling simplified and a bit unwilling to to come out of hiding now. Because Harry hadn't bothered to sit down and get to know him. He hadn't asked how he was doing, he hadn't asked what he'd been up to since the war. He hadn't asked whether Draco had been punished in the trials, whether he still had nightmares about the Dark Lord, whether he still woke up in a sweat from dreams about Professor Dumbledore, whether he could no longer visit Diagon Alley because it was too close to Knockturn Alley, whether he still sometimes cried over the loss of his friend in the terrible Fiendfyre accident.

Whether he still regretted every single time he had lashed out at Harry when he really wanted to punish himself.

Harry hadn't asked any of that. Harry had asked for a wank and then sucked Draco off. He'd been eyeballing Draco since his arrival, looking for openings and treating him like a target or an achievement or something to be obtained. He would have almost preferred if Harry had come on a bit hostile and at least got to know him and realized that maybe they could get along. But to walk in and straight away go for the hook-up, that felt hollow. Meaningless.

"Damn it, Blaise," Draco went to his wardrobe and withdrew another suit. "Why couldn't you have kept your mouth shut?"

The afternoon was getting on, so he knew Blaise would be on his case about preparing for the supper service and calling for escorts. He went downstairs and breezed through the kitchen, then stopped off at the back office Floo. He made the same request as the previous night and then after a moment's thought he placed one more Firecall. If all Harry wanted was easy cock access, he could have it.

At supper he stayed out of the way, only directing and not intervening. After supper he anticipated Blaise's next concern and set up drink service by the pool. By the time the guests were finished dining he was already pouring and the escorts were at the front door.

"Cheers, Malfoy," Ron snagged a Butterbeer and took a long pull. "I've been thinking about this all day."

"I hope you were able to concentrate on the day's presentations," Draco uncorked a bottle of Merlot and poured a glass for himself.

"Rubbish," Ron leaned forward confidentially. "Not a bit of practical information in the lot."

"Hey, come on," Neville had showed up for a beer and overheard his friend's criticism. "What about mine?"

"Neville," Ron winced and took another deep drink. A line of foam crossed his upper lip. "I appreciate all you do for the Auror's Office, I really do. But financial analysis of time spent on forms and procedures?"

Draco snorted and quickly cut himself off. Ron looked so pained, so miserable, so comically injured by the topic of Neville's presentation that he couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh yeah, Malfoy?" Neville's eyes darkened. "Think that's funny, do you?" He shot a glare at Ron, too. "Nothing ever changes. Still having a laugh at dopey old Longbottom."

Ron and Draco ducked their heads. Draco wished he could explain that he was laughing at Ron's dismay, not Neville, but knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Come on, mate," Ron shrugged helplessly. "I'm just grumpy from sitting in that room all day. It was a good presentation."

Draco saw his opening. "I wasn't laughing at you, I swear."

"Right," Neville's expression didn't soften. He shook his head and turned away. "Honestly, Malfoy, I don't know what Harry has ever seen in you."

Draco watched him walk away, and a moment later watched Ron depart for the other side of the pool. Everyone else was having a good time and already pairing up with—

Wait. What did Neville mean by "ever?"

Unfortunately he had no time to ponder the answer to that question. Because Harry had now returned from his room, and was now entering the deck area, and was now approaching Draco with a smile. Draco smiled back, hiding a seething cauldron of confusion and conflicting emotions.

"Doing all right?" Harry smiled.

"I suppose," Draco knew his posture was rigid. It was agonizing. How was he supposed to look at that face, that body, that mouth, knowing what had happened earlier, without jumping on him and begging for a repeat performance? But if he did, wouldn't he just be buying into Harry's superficial hook-up game? Assuming that's what it was. But how could it not be?

"No really," Harry's smile morphed into a frown. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Draco knew his voice didn't convey fineness. It conveyed hurt and confusion and hesitance. In only two words, not bad.

Harry watched him for a moment, reading his body language before speaking again. He stepped up close and checked over his shoulder. "Are you having regrets about earlier?" he asked.

"No," Draco said honestly. He didn't have regrets. He had concerns. About implications. And consequences. That wasn't the same as regrets.

"You don't seem fine," Harry said. "Can we go somewhere to talk?"

"No really—"

Just then the male escorts arrived. Three of them, impeccably groomed and impossibly handsome, in fact so impossibly handsome that Draco suspected magic.

Harry immediately recognized them for what they were. He turned on Draco with eyebrows knitted together. Hurt, what he was showing Draco was hurt.

"What is this?" he hissed. "Did you call them?"

"Well Blaise thought you would be more comfortable—"

"Draco, did you call these gentlemen?" Blaise appeared at his elbow. "I thought you and Pot— oh hello Potter, how are you this evening?" Blaise leaned casually on the drink cart and tried to cover his slip.

"You called them?" Harry only had eyes for Draco. "Why?"

"I just thought," Draco couldn't look at him. He stared out over the pool and tried to ignore the trickle of sweat that rolled down between his shoulder blades.

"Right," Harry turned on his heel and went inside.

"What are you doing?" Blaise snapped. "Follow him!"

Draco jumped and hustled inside. Harry was already across the atrium and ascending the stairs.

"Potter," he called.

"Don't bother, Malfoy," Harry called back.

"Just stop for a moment," Draco ran up the stairs behind him and reached for his elbow.

"What?" Harry whirled around on the top step and glared at Draco. The two steps of height and natural breadth of shoulders made his anger an intimidating sight.

"I don't know," Draco faltered. "But stop anyway."

"Why, so you can offer up more anonymous hook-ups for my holiday pleasure?" Harry turned and stormed past the conference room towards the guest corridor.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" Draco pursued him, refusing to be put off by his anger.

"How could you think that?" Harry whirled around again. "You're not anonymous. I already said I didn't want an escort."

"You came here looking for sex, Potter," Draco heard his voice rise before he realized he was getting angry himself. "You walked in after five years of no contact, following seven years of hostility, and you made it very clear what you were looking for. You may not consider it anonymous sex, but that's what it amounts to, doesn't it?"

Harry's anger froze. His eyes searched Draco's and then his shoulders sagged. "No it doesn't," he said softly.

"How can it be anything else?" Draco's voice cracked.

Harry turned away again and strode to his door, his shoulders rounded. Draco ran after him again and blocked the doorway with his arm, as though Harry couldn't simply overpower him.

"How can it be anything else?" he repeated.

Harry shook his head and lifted Draco's arm from the door jamb. He ducked under it and went inside. As the door swung shut Draco heard three words that struck him harder than a fist.

"Because it's you."


	8. Chapter 8

Draco couldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling and wished he had a Time Turner so he could wind the clock back and undo his decision to call the escort service. He'd obviously misunderstood Harry's intent, thought too much about it, and ruined everything. He told himself that it shouldn't be a big deal. It shouldn't bother him. It shouldn't linger and keep him awake. But it did.

Around three in the morning he was just drifting off when a rapid, rhythmic tap at his door brought him back around. He tossed a black and gold satin robe over his shoulders and yanked the door open.

A white key fob halted in mid-air and fell to the floor with a tiny thump. Draco scooped it up and immediately felt the tug. Without even checking his hair he stumbled forward and followed the draw of the little object. It drew him around the corner, past the conference room, and down the guest corridor. At the fifth door it stopped. Room 205.

As though it would stop anywhere else.

Draco touched the fob to the handle and the lock disengaged, which allowed him to push the door open and peer inside. Harry was sitting by the window, his bed still made. He looked up at Draco's arrival and rose to his feet.

"You seem to have lost this," Draco held out the fob.

"Did I wake you?" Harry didn't close the distance between them.

"No," Draco tossed the fob onto the entertainment stand. "How can I help you?" He remained in the doorway, keeping one foot planted in the hall as an emotional buffer.

"There's something I need to tell you." Harry said. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. "And I realize you might not think well of me when I say it."

"Say it," Draco's heart pounded. He had no idea where this was going.

"There's a reason why it's not anonymous for me," Harry took a shaky breath. "It hasn't been five years since I last spoke to you."

Draco's heart stopped pounding. Suddenly he knew exactly where this was going.

"Do you recall a series of masquerade parties a few years ago, gentlemen only?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco breathed. Everything clicked into place. "You were the one who brought Longbottom."

"You knew it was him?" Harry looked up in surprise.

"Not until last night," Draco said. "When I heard him laugh I made the connection."

"Did you know who I was?" Harry asked.

"No," Draco said honestly. "I had no idea you were there. How did you know who I was?"

"Recognized your voice," Harry smiled weakly. "It's distinctive."

"Did we ever..." Draco waved his hand to imply sex.

"No," Harry shook his head. "You never chose me."

"I never really chose anyone, Potter," Draco said. "Don't take it personally. Longbottom was in the minority."

"I realized who you were at the very first one I attended," Harry said. "We spoke directly. I heard your voice and I knew."

"Why did you continue talking to me if you knew?"

"You were different," Harry said. "You weren't cruel. You were calmer, I suppose. You told me that you'd just come back from a year or so in the Caribbean." He shrugged. "I didn't know if you'd changed in general or if you just didn't know it was me. But it was nice talking to you like a real person. Like mates."

"I don't remember," Draco said. "It was such a strange time for me, the transition back here to my former life. It wasn't easy."

"The second time I went Neville asked if he could come. He's a little bi-curious," he smiled.

"Who isn't?"

"I didn't tell him who you were," Harry looked up again. "He never figured it out. You and I spoke for a bit, then you and Neville spoke by the bar, then you went out to the balcony."

"Merlin," Draco rubbed his eyes. "If I had known who he was I certainly wouldn't have."

"It doesn't bother me," Harry said. "It's the whole point of those parties." He looked down at his hands. "I asked Neville how it went afterwards. He said you were kind to him, but he didn't want to do it again."

"Was I that bad?"

"It wasn't like that," he chuckled. "It was fine, he just wasn't turned on like he thought he would be."

"I'm still a little insulted."

"Afterwards you and I spoke for a bit, and then again at the next two parties," Harry said. "And then you stopped coming."

"It wasn't my cup of tea," Draco said. "Getting laid isn't hard. Finding someone who's worthy of more than sex is what's hard. That whole mask thing seemed to make it harder."

Harry took a deep breath. "So the thing is, I felt like I'd had a chance to see you in a new way. And I already knew I was attracted to you. And Neville told me a lot about what you were like..." It was his turn to gesture to indicate sex. He winced, "Sorry, I know it probably sounds a bit pervy, me knowing this about you but you not knowing about me."

"Keep talking," Draco leaned on the door frame. "You can still pull this one out of a nose-dive."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Even if I tell you that you've sort of been the star of my wank-bank for the last two years?"

"You're lucky I'm a man, Potter. I can't imagine what would happen if you said that to a woman."

"I'd really like a chance to get to know you again," Harry ignored him. "If you'll give me a chance."

"I don't know," Draco cocked an eyebrow. "You're kind of a creep."

The door to the room next door clattered open and Ron stuck his head out into the corridor, hair rumpled and eyes bloodshot with exhaustion and drink.

"In or out. Some of us are trying to sleep," he snapped.

"Right," Draco stepped back into the hallway. Harry snatched his key fob off of the table and followed him.

"Merlin," Ron sighed and withdrew into his room.

"Where do you think you're going?" Draco folded his arms across his chest. He affected an annoyed posture but in truth his heart was racing and his skin tingled from their proximity.

A grin spread across Harry's face.

"Go ahead and say it."

"Is the spa open?"

"You're mad."

Draco led the way downstairs and across the atrium to the bend in the corridor that ended in the door to the spa. They descended the two steps to the gleaming white marble floor and Draco went to the cubicle by habit to change into a uniform.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked as he emerged.

"It's half past three in the morning," Harry said. "I didn't really have a spa treatment in mind."

"Well you said spa, so choose something," Draco raised an eyebrow. He couldn't quite keep the teasing smile from lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, mud bath," Harry raised his chin challengingly.

"Fine, get undressed." Draco accepted the challenge. He wasn't sure what game they were playing, but as with everything else they did it was a game nonetheless. It had always been that way, a constant grapple for power.

Harry's grin nearly split his face now. Rather than adjourning to the dressing cubicle he stripped down tub-side and stood in unabashed nudity as Draco swished to fill the tub.

"Like what you see?" He echoed Draco's earlier question by the pool.

"You've never been one for subtlety," Draco said. But yeah, he liked what he saw.

Harry handed over his glasses, then climbed into the deep tub and sank in up to his chin, exhaling in a satisfied gust. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, a blissful smile spread across his lips.

"That's okay, I'll just sit here and let you rest instead of getting sleep of my own," Draco grumbled.

Harry looked up at him. "Come on then," he scooted over to the edge of the tub and patted the surface of the mud with a sloppy plop.

"Right," Draco snorted.

"Come on," Harry sat up and swiped for Draco's arm.

"Are you mad?" Draco didn't dodge his grip, but he also didn't move to comply.

"Maybe, let's find out," Harry tugged him closer until the edge of the tub was pressed up against his thighs.

"I don't know that two people can fit in one of those things," Draco was stalling. He didn't know what to think. Two in a mud bath? Not to mention it would require them to be crowded in together, pressed up against each other—

Suddenly Harry popped up out of the bath, and with a silly laugh he threw his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him off balance, toppling him into the mud with a graceless splash.

"Potter!" Draco struggled to keep his head above the surface as the viscous liquid sucked him down into its suspension.

"You're okay, I've got you," Harry shifted so that they were lined up alongside each other. "See? Two fit just fine."

Draco gawked at him at close proximity. "You're a nutter, you know that?"

"I know that," Harry murmured. His smile softened and he slid his arms around Draco's waist, holding them together in the undulating bath.

Just then the mud around Draco began to froth. It fizzed and popped and misted away in wafts of smoke.

"My uniform," Draco tried to struggle out of the bath. "The charm is trying to evaporate the mud."

"Then get rid of it," Harry reached up with messy hands and slipped his shirt buttons free, then peeled it back from Draco's shoulders. He tossed it carelessly across the room and it was clean and white before it hit the floor. Then he plunged his hands into the bath and tugged at Draco's trousers, which he helped to strip off of his legs if only to rid himself from the disconcertingly fizzy feeling. Then his pants, too, were flung free.

Harry trailed his fingers down Draco's back and over the curve of his arse, eliciting a delighted shudder that Draco couldn't have repressed if he'd tried. He hesitantly extended his own arms and curled them around Harry's waist as though sudden movements might scare him. But Harry wasn't scared. He drew Draco in closer, until only a thin layer of volcanic ash mud separated their bodies, floating in the bath but anchored to each other by their arms and legs.

Their faces were close, foreheads touching and breath ghosting across each other's skin. Draco's heart was beating so fast that he thought it might pop. Was this really happening? How was it possible? How could Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter end up naked in a bath together?

Harry raised one muddy hand and touched Draco behind his ear. Then he pressed in and kissed Draco gently. Draco drew a sharp breath but his hands reflexively clutched Harry closer and he pressed back with unleashed need. Harry responded in kind and in no time they were slipping their tongues across each other and kissing with an urgency that couldn't be denied. Draco's mind focused down to just one thought: consume Harry Potter.

He rolled over on top of Harry and floated above him in the mud matrix, their cocks just barely drifting across each other and sending absurd ripples of pleasure up and down their bodies. Harry tightened his grip around his waist and pulled him closer until Draco was spread across him like butter on toast.

Harry dipped his mouth into the curve of Draco's neck and then pulled back with a surprised chuckle. "The only place that isn't muddy is your face."

"Then clearly you should be focusing your energy there," Draco raised an eyebrow. Harry grinned and pressed in again.

The warm mud flowed around and between them, holding them together, then moving them apart, the buoyancy so much like weightlessness that Draco felt as though he were flying. It was disorienting and new and wonderful and thrilling and he wondered how he had gone his whole life without trying this before.

His hand made its journey south without his awareness, and when he grasped Harry's cock it elicited a jolt of surprise from both of them. Harry immediately mirrored his grip and squeezed, and they both groaned gutturally in response. The ash was finely milled, so much so that it was as slick as oil and made for a frictionless stroke that made Draco light-headed.

They kissed deeply, pushing and reaching with their tongues as their hands worked, stroking each other towards a climax that could not be held off for long. Draco had been sucked to full release earlier that morning but Harry seemed pent up and desperate for relief. Draco curled his hand around Harry's arse and squeezed hard, his fingers straying into sensitive areas and pressing without stretching him or allowing mud to enter.

Harry responded by bucking against him and stroking faster, his other hand wound around Draco's neck and holding him close as he kissed him like he was drawing life's breath.

Draco marched his pace and pulled over and over, allowing the slippery mud to coat Harry's shaft so his fingers could pull fast and hard without burning. Harry moaned into his mouth and then pulled away, tossing his head back and groaning at the ceiling.

"Like that, do you?" Draco's gasp came out significantly less saucy than he intended, but it was hard to keep his cool when the leading edge of orgasm was coiling up at the base of his spine.

Harry nodded shakily, his breath ragged and feverish. Draco knew that look. He was about to—

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking and his hips thrusting wildly, churning the mud into gloppy waves as he came hard into Draco's hand. The sensation of a different sort of warm slickness kicked off a chain reaction in Draco, and instantly he was rocketing over the top, too.

They whimpered and shook and twitched and gasped for breath as the furious climax left them mutually sated. They laid silently together for a while, floating in the warm bath, their arms encircling each other in the volcanic ash.

"It's nearly four in the morning," Draco finally murmured. Harry's eyes had been drifting closed but now they fluttered open. He traced a finger through the flaky dried ash on Draco's exposed shoulder and then leaned in to kiss him again.

"I could just fall asleep like this." His voice was so quiet that it was more of a rumble than speech.

"I'll not have you drown in a pool of mud. Think of the bad press," Draco sniffed haughtily.

"That's the only downside, eh?" Harry reached around and pressed his fingers into Draco's back muscles.

"Hnng," Draco grunted. "That feels good."

"If we can't sleep here, we should go get cleaned up," Harry withdrew his hand and heaved himself up out of the mud.

Draco sighed and hauled himself up, too. They stepped out into the cold floor but before Harry could find his robe Draco grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the shower.

"Don't act like you're suddenly interested in covering up," he said.

They piled into the private shower stall and cranked the taps. Outside their muddy footprints boiled away on the charmed tile. Beneath the cascade of hot water gray mud eroded from their skin in long rivulets that ran in tinted streaks to the drain. Draco turned on Harry and stared hard into his eyes.

_Have your way with me, will you, Potter? We'll see about that._

He pushed Harry up against the shower wall and crashed their mouths together. Harry's back stiffened in surprise, then relaxed as the stiffness worked its way south. Draco snarled and pinned his wrists to the tile above their heads, overcome with the desire to tip the balance of power again.

Harry was breathing hard, his pupils wide and intensely focused on Draco's face. He didn't fight back, he let himself be held captive beneath the rushing spray.

Draco crushed his mouth again and released one wrist so he could run his palm over the hills and valleys of Harry's muscles until he reached his bollocks, and then he walked his hand between his legs to the short stretch of skin where a firm nudge awakened his prostate. _Just a test, Potter. Let's see how you like—_

"Fuck me," Harry breathed, his eyes fluttering closed.

_Okay, apparently you like it._

"Lift," Draco hoisted Harry's thigh and tucked his waist behind his raised knee. He tickled his fingers across Harry's entrance and teased around the puckered skin. Then, without resistance, he slipped his first finger in.

Harry clenched around him and moaned in relief. He pressed down and took Draco's invasion eagerly, which Draco found simply marvelous. He slipped a second finger inside and scissored in tiny motions, eliciting just a brief flash of a grimace from Harry, before it melted into ecstasy again.

"Don't let me push you too fast," Draco murmured. "I don't want to hurt you."

Harry's brilliant green eyes opened and he focused on Draco now, still and calm beneath the shower spread. A smile spread across his face and he leaned forward for a kiss.

"Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?" he asked gently.

Draco couldn't suppress a small laugh. "You'd better hope I'm Draco Malfoy or you've got some stranger's fingers up your bum."

Harry threw his head back and laughed, the muscle convulsions traveling all the way down to Draco's hand. Draco flexed his fingers, curtailing the laugh and capturing Harry's attention once again.

"Time enough for jokes later," he murmured, working his fingers and coaxing Harry's muscles into relaxation.

When he slipped in the third finger he was certain Harry was beyond distraction. The man whimpered and pressed down, desperate for more, his face flushed with need. Draco withdrew and turned him by his hips, then positioned him slightly bent over with his hands planted on the tile wall.

Entering was like going home. Draco pressed into the firm heat of Harry's body and felt himself surrounded by the tight, amazing pressure of Harry's body pushing back. In spite of himself he groaned in a rather undignified way. Harry groaned back.

He began to push now, thrusting in small increments at first, then becoming more confident as Harry welcomed the motion. Draco reached around and tugged Harry's cock in counter-rhythm, but he could tell from the rapidly rising heat beneath his skin that climax was already near. Which was okay by Draco. He was near eruption, too.

Harry bore down in a useless effort to stave off climax for a few more precious seconds but it was beyond the point of no return. He thrust back against Draco and cried out, his face contorted into something resembling pain. Draco flexed under the sudden tightening and came like a rocket, his hips frozen in mid-push and his breath trapped in his throat. Then the paralysis broke and he thrust furiously as the remainder of his orgasm quickly expended itself.

"Merlin, Malfoy," Harry gasped, his head draped across his arm. Draco carefully pulled out and laid his head on Harry's shoulder blade.

Draco knew without a mirror that his face was flushed from the exertion. He tipped his head back and let the shower pour over him. Harry turned and folded Draco into his arms and kissed him long and deep before letting him go and rinsing off himself.

"Four thirty," Harry said as they stepped out of the shower. "My first meeting is at nine."

"Well why are you wasting your time?" Draco pulled his pyjama bottoms over his hips. "Messing about here instead of sleeping," he shook his head in mock-disapproval.

Harry tossed his shirt around his shoulders and shrugged. "I've been campaigning to have our annual retreat booked at Jumeaux for two years. I couldn't leave without getting the most out of my visit."

"Two years?" Draco waved for Harry to precede him into the hall.

"It wasn't easy convincing a bunch of Aurors that we should spend our three-day outing at a spa resort," Harry paused in the atrium and eyed Draco closely. "Or did you think this was all a coincidence?"

Draco stared at him as the realization set in. It all made sense now: Harry's friendliness, his immediate interest in spa services, even his assumption that Draco swung that way and might be receptive to his advances.

"You're a bit of a creep, aren't you?" he finally said.

"Does it bother you?" Harry's smile disappeared. "I'm really not a creep, Malfoy. If we hadn't known each other for years, if there wasn't all of that baggage to work around—"

"Just go upstairs," Draco shoved his shoulder and waved him up the marble staircase. "Take a left at the top."

Harry obeyed and made his way to Draco's door, where the wards released and admitted them into the parlor of the penthouse suite. Draco flourished his hand and made a big show of pulling a key fob out of thin air and handing it over.

"Don't lose this," he said. "I can't have just any old man showing up at my door."

"Is this your place?" Harry looked around in surprise. "You're really giving me a key?"

"I can keep it if you'd like," Draco reached to take it back.

"No," Harry whipped it behind his back.

"Go on, then. It's going to be sunrise soon," Draco waved him to the end of the suite where his bedroom looked out over the pool on one side and the charmed view on the other.

Harry checked him for approval one more time and then climbed beneath the sheets. Draco climbed in next to him and rolled on his side in a clear invitation to be spooned from behind.  Harry complied without hesitation.

"So I guess this means you fancy me," Harry murmured in his ear as he curled an arm around his waist.

"I'm sorry, am I sending mixed messages?" Draco asked. Sex had made him smug.

Harry chucked. "No, very clear."

"What about you?"

"I can't possibly be sending mixed messages."

"No," Draco yawned. "What I mean is, have you always liked me? Like back in our school days?"

"No, I didn't like you back then."

Draco thought that was fair. He'd been pretty screwed up as a kid. And not very pleasant, he had to admit.

"I liked you," he murmured. "It was half of the reason I hated you."

Harry rolled him onto his back and looked into his eyes in a moment of seriousness. He brushed Draco's hair back and smiled, then rolled him over and tucked in behind him again. He snuggled in close and squeezed Draco with his arm. He nuzzled the outline of his ear and planted a kiss just behind his earlobe. The sensation sent gooseflesh rippling across Draco's arms and legs.

"I didn't like you back then," Harry said softly in Draco's ear. "But I really wanted to."

 


	9. Chapter 9

"As I expected, Master Malfoy is out here, please come with me."

Draco sighed and opened his eyes with great reluctance. The sun glared off of the pool surface, requiring Blaise to shield his eyes as he emerged from the dimmer atrium with two attractive blondes in tow.

"Well well," Draco pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. "Putting the Jumeaux back in Jumeaux Spa once again, are we?"

"This is Elsa and Ursula," Blaise indicated each girl with a flourish. "They're from Austria, just graduated from the Österreicher Schönheitzauberschule," he said. "And they are now our full-time aestheticians."

 

" _Grüsse, Madchen_ ," Draco shook each girl's hand. " _Herr Zabini ist ein bisschen schrecklich mit Frauen. Vorsichtig sein._ "

 

The two girls blushed and giggled.

 

"What did you say to them?" Blaise demanded. "I heard my name."

 

"I warned them to watch their backs around you," Draco said. The girls giggled again.

 

"I'm taking them inside to show them the spa. Do you want to join us?" Blaise straightened his tie and tried to pretend that he wasn't annoyed.

 

"No, I'm expecting company." Draco settled down into his chaise lounge and closed his eyes.

 

Blaise snorted and led the girls through the glass doors. Draco drifted off to sleep in the warm sunshine, content to soak up rays as the morning drifted by. When a shadow crossed his face he rose back to consciousness and looked up into emerald green eyes.

 

"You look comfortable," Harry said.

"I am," Draco raised his hand and beckoned.

Harry chuckled and leaned over so Draco could plant a kiss on his mouth. Then he slung his thumbs in his belt loops and gazed down at him with a curious quirk to his lips.

"So is this how it's going to work?" he asked. "I come and go as I please and you lie in the sun between visits?"

"I do go out sometimes too, you know," Draco squinted up at him. The sun framed Harry's head, illuminating the messy tips of his black hair. "Ask me out on a date, perhaps."

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Draco dropped his sunglasses over his eyes to conceal the giddy twinkle that he was afraid would show.

"So it's a boyfriend thing?" Harry asked.

"Well you're damn well not going to be dating anyone else," Draco said.

"So it's a boyfriend thing."

"Yes."

"Okay." The grin on Harry's face leaked into his voice. He dragged his hand through his hair and tried not to fidget but his glee was impossible to conceal.

"My darling boyfriend," Draco said. "There's something you could do for me, something that would make me very happy."

"What?" Harry asked.

Draco looked up with a devilish smile. "Move to the left. You're blocking my sun."

*********************************************

THE END

 


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